


Only the Stones Remember

by Amarthril



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Angst, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Not Rhaegar Positive, Tower of Joy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-22
Updated: 2018-04-22
Packaged: 2019-04-26 08:56:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14398662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amarthril/pseuds/Amarthril
Summary: There are some stories the history books won’t tell.





	Only the Stones Remember

**Author's Note:**

> I had some ideas running through my head about Arthur.

Arthur had accomplished many great deeds in his life. The lists in the hefty White Book attested to it. But there were some things that were best left out of the history books.

For instance, the book never mentioned the time he had protected the Prince after a hasty step on one of the Red Keep’s winding staircases nearly went awry. A gentle hand on his elbow was all it took to prevent a very embarrassing injury for the kingdom’s future sovereign. The colour rose on the Prince’s cheeks and he muttered a vague thanks in Arthur’s general direction. Arthur took it that this was something he need not report.

.

There were other stories that deserved to be recorded in the history books, or at least remembered by someone other than he.

There would be those who judged Lyanna Stark by extremes. To some she would be simply be the Dragon’s Whore, or in more polite circles, the Prince’s mistress. The woman whose lust and wilfulness was so great that she started a war. There would also be others who would pity her, an innocent maiden, stolen away by the wicked Dragon Prince. Still more would venerate her, their memories magnifying her beauty until it was the only thing they could remember of her.

There were very few who would remember Lyanna Stark as she was.

She was not beautiful, not in the way she would be remembered for. Her dark curls were forever tangled and knotted because she never cared to tie it back when cantering. And she would pull faces, scrunching up her nose, as she combed it out every evening. She didn’t share Rhaegar’s fastidious cleanliness as they travelled to Dorne. Freckled with dirt and sweat she befitted the Prince’s squire, not his consort

The way she laughed and shouted as she rode would also be forgotten. She was loud in everything she did. She was quick to anger, especially if she assumed some slight had been made on her pride. But she was quicker to laugh and also to forgive.

“Watch me Ser Arthur.” She called, almost childishly from her mare beside him. Arthur humoured her, as he always did. She slowed her horse to a walk and proceeded to climb, a little ungracefully, out of her stirrups. Placing her feet so that she was standing with her knee’s slightly bent on her horse’s saddle. Lyanna grinned down at him, a mischievous twinkle in her eye. She dropped her reigns, opening her arms out wide as if showing off to an imaginary audience. Arthur eyed her, a little impressed.

“Where did My Lady learn that trick?” He asked.

“My brother Brandon showed me, but I’m better than him at it.” She answered, a hint of boastful pride in her voice. Just then her horse jolted slightly and for a moment and she slipped forward, arms flailing to steady herself. Lyanna climbed down after that and laughed loudly as she urged he horse on forward. Spurring his horse on to keep pace, Arthur found himself smiling a little too.

Only a few knew how quiet she fell when the months wore on in the Tower of Joy. As the babe took root inside her and Rhaegar’s visits became more sporadic, so the sound of her laughter diminished also. She no longer called to Arthur to show him tricks, or tell him stories of her brothers. She mostly avoided him and everyone else. She trusted no-one and he couldn’t help but feel partially responsible.

Clouds rolled low the day word came that her brother and father were dead, killed by the Mad King. The air felt stuffy and Arthur struggled for breath as he climbed to the top of the Tower to break the news. He expected her to scream, maybe even lash out. But when the doomed words fell from his mouth, she silently turned away. He yearned to comfort her but didn’t know how.

“I’m sorry.” The words sounded silly. Sorry for what? Sorry for keeping you prisoner here. Sorry that I didn’t take you home months ago. Sorry that I couldn’t protect from the Prince. His apologies were weak indeed. Lyanna didn’t respond but only continued to stare blankly at the brooding skies out the window. Her hand absentmindedly came to rest on her belly, which swelled against her slight frame.

When the storm finally came that night it raged mercilessly against the tower. Rain lashed through Arthur’s window like blood from a wound, soaking his room even through the shutters. The wind howled, barely masking the wild sobs coming from the chamber above.

Lyanna Stark was strong too. The history books might mention that, but they would never know the extent. Her eyes were always determined, even at the very end. Soaked in a pool of her own blood, she babbled about how she was going to get stronger. She called for Ned, saying that she wanted him to teach her son how fight when he was older. She herself, would teach her little Jon how to ride.

This history books would never tell, though they should, of Lyanna Stark’s strength or her laughter. And those that live to remember number few.

.

There were some things that should never be voiced aloud. Things that should be forgotten with stones that made his grave.

The way Arthur’s heart wrenched as he stood guarded the Prince from outside her chambers. The sounds of their coupling not entirely muffled by the thick stone walls. The low feeling of guilt in the pit of his stomach that came when he saw Lyanna so quiet the next day. Or Arthur’s feigned smiles when Rhaegar announced the babe, calling the child his joy.  

It will never be known how he held her tiny hand when she felt the first pangs of labour. She gripped his fingers tight, grey eyes wide with fear. When her screams echoed through the tower he paced up and down the stairs, silently cursing Rhaegar but cursing himself more. And it should never, ever be known of the way Arthur wished to tuck the curled strands of Lyanna’s wild hair behind her ear. Or to smooth away the lines on her forehead with his thumb.

.

Some scholars would later comment on the strangeness that Ned Stark defeated the Sword of Morning at the Tower of Joy. Perhaps out of desperation to save his sister he found some inner reserve of determination. Some might even go so far to say the Old God’s gave him their blessing. Or mayhaps, Arthur Dayne finally decided to do something right.

Ned Stark’s siege of the Tower of Joy lasted near three days but might have lasted many more. Lyanna, hearing her brother’s calls, grew frantic. She called back to him, but her cries were barely audible beyond her chamber. For three days they haunted Arthur, they grew weaker and weaker but she never gave up. Finally at last, she turned to Arthur.

“Please.” Lyanna whispered. Her voice was rasped and choked with sorrow. Arthur looked down at the babe nestled by her, his tiny fingers gripping her hair. Even with all the noise, he still did not make a sound. Running a hand over his face, Arthur sighed. Even after death Rhaegar still commanded his loyalty.

Rhaegar, who named this tower Joy, but did not stay around long enough to witness the opposite. Rhaegar who was so blinded by his prophecy he plunged the kingdom into war to fulfill it. And Arthur who was so blinded by Rhaegar he stood by and let it happen.

Sighing, Arthur allowed himself to take her hand. She did not pull away.

“I’m sorry.” He said again. This time when he apologised Lyanna looked at him. In her eyes he found no forgiveness, only a challenge. He couldn’t make things right but he could do something for her.

The battle between Arthur Dayne and Ned Stark did not last long. Ned, though not usually a violent man was unrelenting. Arthur parried his blows easily until Ned struck deep. Arthur’s arm was just a little too low, his stance just a little too uneven. Just enough so that Ned’s blow struck true.

Arthur never imagined his last breaths would be under the vast Dornish sky. The tower rose high in his vision, marring the view. His eyes were blurred but he could just make out the figure of Ned Stark racing up to the highest chamber.

.

Arthur’s death would be recorded in the White Book. _Defeated in combat by Ned Stark at The Tower of Joy_. The stories that never made the history books are now lost to memory. Recorded only in the stones which now mark a lonely grave on the Dornish bluff.


End file.
